So Martin could walk
So Obama could run
So our children can fly.
Waves caught in a still frame
A touch of grace, comings and goings
frozen in time
Shards of ice, bully the fleet of
The bay was quiet
only an occasional snapping crack of ice as it shift to a more comfortable position or a goose eerily
honked searching for his mate.
Few were out in the grayness, the deep cold.
In the distance a biker stood on the edge of the pier, holding ever so still.
Did I dare interfere with his reverie?
With the slightly embarrassed "hi" I met Mike.
Mike: free spirit, world traveler, keeper of journals, biker, runner, reader, poet, reads Mary Oliver poetry and Terry Tempest Williams, thrives in ice and cold, looking for the next adventure, pursuing second career, loves architecture and numbers, grand talker, friendly and hopes we meet again.
As we spoke, the snow had deftly fallen,
sift like fine face powder
from a feathery puff.
Pure magic on Martin Luther's Birthday!